Murphy's Law
by mylovelymindpalace
Summary: Sherlock and Molly take a trip to Molly's hometown. Everything that can go wrong will go wrong. Rated for future chapters. Beta is the lovely cumbersuaded.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! Thanks for taking the time to check out my first fic! Please leave reviews! I have a couple more chapters that I will be adding soon.

Molly Hooper didn't believe in karma. She didn't believe her previous actions would come back to haunt her. But her little trip to Tring forced her to reconsider her position.

It had all started when John broke his leg, leaving Sherlock to fend for himself. John had learned to put up with Sherlock's annoying eccentricities, but Mrs. Hudson had forced him to stay with his fiancée Mary for his recovery.

"Sherlock is hard enough to deal with at prime strength dear. With a broken leg you won't even be able to run away." She had said.

John had reluctantly agreed. Without John, Sherlock became even more bored than usual, and Mycroft had personally begged Lestrade to assign him a case (for every one's sake). The detective inspector had tried his best, but soon ran out of cases for the picky detective.

The snapping point for Mrs. Hudson had involved Sherlock's homeless network, John's cat Zeus, and her favorite soothers. As unlikely as he would be to admit it, Sherlock was by nature a social creature. As he had once said to her:

"Genius needs an audience to be truly appreciated."

'The incident' as she later termed it, started normally enough. Sherlock had noticed that the cat was being unusually active, so Sherlock decided to administer some of the medicine to him. But, as usual with Sherlock, he needed to turn a somewhat normal act into an experiment. He decided that an interesting course of action would be to see the effects of external stimulus on a drugged individual. He upped the amount of medicine in regular intervals until the cat could only be described as high. He then called in the homeless. They were instructed to make as much noise and movement as was humanly possible for a group of 30 rag tag people to do. They happily obliged. Of course, the poor cat went understandably crazy, tearing through the flat before running out the door and down the street, screaming like a banshee all the while. Sherlock and his crew found this quite amusing. The poor people of Baker Street who were woken up at 2:00 am fully believing that the apocalypse was open understandably found it less so.

All of this left one course of action. Molly Hooper agreed to call in Sherlock for assistance on the autopsy of a murder victim. It was the last thing that could be done.

Molly turned from her place beside the slab when she heard the morgue door slam. The consulting detective entered the cool room with an air of self assurance, coat billowing around him.

"Honestly Molly, this ruse is beneath you. I know you are a competent pathologist, and as you have never called for my assistance on a murder before I know that it isn't the true point of my being summoned here. Who put you up to it? Mrs. Hudson? Lestrade? As I have nothing better to do I will view the body, if there even is one."

He joined Molly at the slab as she moved the sheet back from the body. She winced slightly as she saw the pretty young victim, but Sherlock looked on unemotionally.

"Maggie Wilson, originally from Tring, moved to London last month. Victim died of a heroine overdose. No previous use. The drug was not self administered as the puncture from the needle is in her left foot. However, the confusing part is that there are multiple post-mortem skull fractures indicative of being hit violently over the back of the head with something like a plank. What kind of killer would OD their victim to make it seem like suicide, but be careless enough to puncture their ankle? And then they went and ruined their entire plan by smashing the already dead victim over the head. It makes no sense. I was going to write up over dose as the cause of death, but I figured I would consult you first."

Sherlock's eyes had taken on a glazed, distant look as Molly described the case to him, cataloging it in his mind palace, she presumed.

"Yes, thank you Molly. Pack a bag and be ready by 4:00 pm. We are going to Tring." Molly watched open mouthed as Sherlock swaggered out. Had he really just invited her on a road trip to her home town?


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows. I will try to post one new chapter a day.

SammyKatz- Yep, Zeus is okay :)

daisherz365-I can't wait to hear your opinion on the next parts!

Prothoe- He's still alive and okay. Sherlock is no longer allowed near pets or medicine.

Here's chapter two. Reviews etc. are appreciated.

Molly sat by the side of the road next to a particularly grumpy detective. Neither had dressed for trekking in the mud, so they had decided to wait for a car. Her light weight cherry cardigan and a knee length skirt in a similar color to the little fruits on her sweater were not ideal walking clothes.

"How was I supposed to know the car would break down?" He asked sulkily.

"I didn't say anything Sherlock, and no, I didn't think it either. Technically, it didn't break down. We ran out of fuel. It wasn't broken until you insisted on playing around with the engine."  
To be quite honest she had been thinking it. What kind of person set off on a road trip without checking their fuel levels?

They had been waiting thirty minutes without seeing a car when a particularly old, particularly loud truck appeared, chugging into sight. Sherlock stood up and flagged down the truck like a taxi.

"Are you stuck?" The teenage boy behind the wheel asked.

At that minute he caught sight of the small woman behind Sherlock.

"Oh hello Molly, er… Doctor Hooper. I didn't know you were coming home for a visit. Can I give you and your friend a lift?"

Molly smiled at the teen. He was her best friend Eva's younger brother. She knew he had fancied her at one time, and apparently he still did by the blush that hid under his tanned cheeks.

"Thanks Max. The trip was kind of last minute, so I didn't know either."

She noticed Sherlock eyeing the boy. His usual deducing look was there, but another look warred with it. On anyone else she might have called it jealousy.

"You can hop in the back if you want." The boy said.

Sherlock settled himself awkwardly into the truck bed, sitting on his leather suitcase. Molly giggled at the sight of Sherlock in such a rustic scene. His crisply pressed dress pants and purple shirt (her favorite on him) were completely at odds with his surroundings. Sherlock looked at her with a look that could kill.  
"Don't start." He said.

Molly turned to watch the country side slide past them. She was in no mood to deal with the irritable Sherlock.

Molly and her mother had left Tring soon after her father died. The two had moved to London, and soon after Molly had left for uni. She rarely returned to her home town, preferring to leave the memories as they were. Her relationship with Tring had died with her father. And now she was returning home.

Molly was suddenly awakened from her thoughts when the truck bounced to a stop. Max came around to the back and helped Sherlock with their cases.

"Miss Lynn still runs the little B&B. I am sure she could put the two of you up for the night."

Molly groaned inwardly. She had been hoping that the little bed and breakfast had been replaced by a more modern establishment. Miss Lynn was a sweet old woman, the type of person no can remember being younger than 65. She was the last of the true spinsters. She had two small rooms in her house that she marketed as a bed and breakfast to the few travelers who came to the small town. In reality, the title 'Bed and Breakfast' was deceptive. The breakfast wasn't complimentary, and the bed was far from comfortable. To top it off, the roof always leaked in the rain. Molly pointed the little, thatch-roofed house out to Sherlock, who picked up his suitcase and began to trudge through the muddy street. How gallant. Molly retrieved her small lavender case and trotted off after him.

"What exactly are we doing here Sherlock?" She asked as they walked. She hadn't thought to ask earlier.

"I need to know more about this Maggie. Who she was and why someone would want to kill her. The easiest way to do this is to ingratiate myself with those who knew her best. Obviously, I brought you as my cover. As a native of sorts it only makes sense for you to return upon the happy occasion of your marriage."

He handed her a gold band with a simple diamond chip without ceremony. She slid it onto her finger, admiring it for a moment. The gold band was thin, something a young man without a lot of money would purchase, but the diamond chip was beautiful. It was small, but it had flecks of blue and green that shifted in the light.

"M…my what?" She stuttered.

"Marriage Molly. Do keep up. We have recently been married and you wanted to introduce me to your childhood home before our honeymoon. Perfectly natural. We haven't heard of the unfortunate death of Miss Wilson and you will be suitably upset. I will of course ask questions, you will recover from the shock, and we will spend a day or two about town. We will then leave for our holiday."

With that they arrived at the door of the little cottage. Sherlock gave a rap with his knuckle and stood tapping his toe impatiently. The door opened to reveal a grey haired woman in a teal floral dress. Molly found it impressive how Sherlock could change every emotion on his face in an instant. His expression went from one of pure exasperation to an amiable grin the instant the door opened.

"Hello. Why, Molly dear, I had no idea you were coming."

Miss Lynn had moved to hug Molly before she rung Sherlock's hand happily. Watching the exchange, Molly noticed a gold band glinting on Sherlock's ring finger. She hadn't noticed it before. When had he slipped it on?

"Hello." He said affably. "My name is Archer Bailey. Molly and I were recently married, and she decided she wanted to show me her childhood home before our honeymoon."

Like most single women, Miss Lynn's eyes lit up at the mention of a wedding.

"Congratulations! You have a wonderful wife Mr. Bailey." Sherlock wrapped his arm around Molly's waist and she felt her skin prickle under the weight

"Luckily, I have a room available for the two of you. The other is engaged by a gentleman from out of town."

Molly realized her brain had wandered off when she heard Sherlock say her name. She had been to concentrated on his thumb rubbing small circles on her hip. Her lightweight cotton shirt had ridden up the slightest bit and the pad of his thumb had encountered the sensitive skin of her hip bone.

"Isn't that right angel?" He said. Without her noticing they had managed to walk into the home and engage a room. Sherlock was reaching for their things when she was snapped out of her happy day dreams.

"Hmm?" She said dreamily.

"I was just telling Mrs. Lynn about how we want kids quite soon. She wanted to know if you were going to leave your job, so I told her about our plan to move to the country."

"Oh yes, of course. The country is so much better for kids."

Sherlock grabbed their things, and they followed Miss Lynn to their room.

"Here you are dears. I am going to warn you, the walls aren't thick so most everything can be heard in the next room."

Molly could feel her face go red. She knew what was meant by 'most everything'. Sherlock chuckled and opened the door. The sight that greeted them was disheartening. The room was quite bare, a rocking chair and a twin bed were almost the only furniture it contained.

"I guess we're sharing then." Molly said as she flopped onto the bed. Flopping was a bad idea. The mattress was thin, and the springs groaned under even her meager weight. Sherlock merely nodded. He flipped through the messages on his phone before turning to Molly.

"Are you ready?" He asked her. She nodded.

"I believe we should start with the local pub. Gossip is a fairly certain result of over drinking."

With that he left the room, leaving her to trot after him again.


	3. Chapter 3

Prothoe- You're welcome! Glad you liked it

musicchica10- Going to have to wait and see about the jealous Sherlock. Glad you like it!

MorbidbyDefault- Of course Sherlock takes advantage of the squeaky bed. :) Just going to have to see how. Love you and your stuff too!

magic strikes- Glad you enjoy it! I enjoyed writing it!

Molly wasn't the 'make a wish' type but on her little trip to Tring she was wishing as hard as she could for one thing. Please, please, please, don't rain. Plenty of things had gone badly on their little trip. The car had run out of gas, they had to share a bed, Sherlock had punched a drunk guy who had been hitting on her. The only reason he wasn't taken in to the local police was because she had been good friends with the policeman who had came to investigate things. And now they were back at the little B&B under very ominous clouds. Molly was doing her best to avoid the awkward moment of changing out of her skirt and T-shirt into her pajamas. The room had no on suite bathroom, so the only option was to strip down to her skivvies in front of the oblivious detective. As he wasn't going to make things easy for her by leaving the room (she had agreed with him that it would be a suspicious thing for a newlywed husband to do) she was forced to chose between changing and sleeping in her clothes. Molly resigned herself to the awkward moment and reached for her suitcase. When she saw the pajamas she had packed she felt like groaning in agony. Ever since she was little Molly had enjoyed wearing nightgowns. This love had extended into her adult years. And now she stood stock still staring at a downright sexy black lace nightgown. She didn't have any one to dress up for, but she liked to feel pretty after the utilitarian clothes she wore at the morgue. How was she supposed to know that they would be sharing a bed when she had packed? Molly grabbed the nightgown and retreated to the farthest corner of the little room. She violently yanked her t-shirt over her head and pulled the nightgown on before removing her skirt. She heard a chuckle from the bed.

"I don't recommend a future in strip tease Molly."

Molly blushed furiously before vigorously shushing him.

"We're supposed to be on our honeymoon. That wasn't exactly 'in character' Mr. Bailey." She whispered at him.

The detective shrugged and patted the bed. Molly never knew that such a gesture could be mocking. She gingerly peeled back the heavy blankets (don't look at his legs, don't look at his torso, don't look…) before gently sliding in next to him. She could feel the body heat roll off of him. She was much to aware that he was only wearing a pair of purple boxers. She briefly noticed that he had been wearing his purple shirt today, and laughed when she realized he color-coded his underwear to match his shirts.

"Shall we give Miss Lynn what she is wanting?" He whispered.

She could feel his lips on her ear, his hot breath on her face. She looked at him wide eyed.

"Not like that Molly! I pride myself on my acting ability." Suddenly he thrashed around wildly, making the bedsprings groan. Molly giggled. She wondered how often he had practiced this skill. He let out a stifled groaning noise (not his best acting but Molly was willing to let it go) and shoved Molly in the ribs. She let out a loud yelp, and looked reproachfully at the smugly grinning man.

"You'll pay for that one!" She whispered.

Molly had taken a smattering of self defense and knew all the best places to hit. She shoved Sherlock in the solar plexus ad he let out a high pitched whine. She giggled and turned over to sleep. HE added a strange growling moan and flopped back, satisfied with his handiwork.

At that moment she heard it. The ominous rumble of approaching thunder. Suddenly, the crackling hiss of lightning and the accompanying brightness briefly illuminated the room. The heavens opened and the rain poured down, hammering onto the thatched roof. Molly knew it was only a matter of time before drips would begin to leak through. Soon enough she was proved right. A drop landed next to her head. She turned to find Sherlock oblivious, already asleep. Of course, the roof above him was completely sound. She was already quite wet. This wasn't going to be a good night.

Molly woke in her husband's arms. Well, he wasn't really her husband, and she wasn't really in his arms, but a girl can dream. She was more flopped on top of his (noticeably bare) chest, with one of his arms draped unceremoniously across her neck. she realized she must have rolled on top of him in the middle of the night to escape the rain. Molly tried to extricate herself from under his arm when she felt him start to wake up underneath her.

'Great.' She thought, 'now he is going to think I'm throwing myself at him.'

But in typical Sherlock fashion, he didn't notice it. For being the most observant man in the world, anything relational in nature passed him by. He pulled his arm off her neck and rolled to his feet. He grabbed an outfit from his case and pulled it over his slender frame. It was strange for Molly to see the usually immaculately dressed Sherlock in a pair of dark jeans and a band tee shirt. Of course, his heavy coat was pulled over top.

"Good morning." He said, voice pleasanter than usual. Molly returned the greeting, dressing quickly. They made their way to the dining room where Miss Lynn had prepared a substantial breakfast.

"Hello dears. Did you sleep last night?" Molly blushed at the obvious phrasing in the question. Sherlock nodded pleasantly.

"Quite well. We are planning to go exploring today!" The tone in his voice was sickly sweet, even to Molly, but she was to preoccupied with his hand rubbing circles dangerously low on her back to care. She smiled at him.

"Excuse me darling, I forgot my mobile in our room. Why don't you two talk about some of your old friends while I am gone."

For one heady moment his lips brushed hers. The feeling was exhilarating, but brief. Molly turned to the old woman. The mention of old friends was enough to spark the memory of Maggie Wilson.

"Did you hear about Maggie Jones? She married the young Wilson boy and moved to London… She was murdered."

Molly gave the obligatory cry of surprise and Sherlock rushed in on cue.

"Are you alright pet?" He asked, voice replete with concern.

"I'm fine Archie dear. I'm sure you remember when I told you about my good friend Maggie? She was murdered!" Sherlock gave a vague murmur of surprise and sympathy. They chatted with Miss Lynn for a while but the woman had no real knowledge of either Maggie Wilson or her husband.

"Well, Molly and I are going to be off. We will return for our things at the end of the day." Sherlock said, practically dragging Molly from the little cottage.

"Waste of time." He growled once they were out of earshot of the old woman. "We might as well comb the town for clues.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the short chapter today. I promise that tomorow's will be longer (and funny again)!

musicchica10-I don't think Sherlock has come to grips with how much he wishes he wasn't acting.

MorbidbyDefault- Thank you! I think that 3 was my favorite chapter to write.

Molly was footsore and tired. Their search had been useless. Maggie Wilson hadn't been particularly important or well known in the town and no one really knew anything that could help. Molly had finally convinced Sherlock to trek to her childhood home, but she had forgotten just how far it was from the little village. A three mile, muddy walk found them facing the small house. It was just as she had left it. The stone walls that surrounded it were a little weathered, and a bird had nested under the tile roof, but it had stayed basically the same.

"Daddy and I called it Fae Cottage. Mummy always said we were silly. I guess I never realized that she wanted him to grow out of his daydreams. He was so wonderful, but not practical. I don't think I appreciated mummy the way I should have. She held us together in the real world."

She hadn't meant to talk aloud. Of all people to bare her soul to, Sherlock wasn't on the top of the list. But to her eternal surprise he wordlessly grabbed her hand.

"After he died I gave up on daydreams. I became like Mummy, practical and continually in the real world. Until…" She drifted off.

"Sorry. You don't want to hear about my childhood woes. Do you want to do some exploring?"

He smiled a lopsided smile, the corner of his mouth twitching up ever so slightly. Unlike most smiles from him, it was completely genuine. They spent a while walking through the woods before flopping onto the damp grass. The day was chilly and Molly snuggled into her sweater. She groaned when she felt a drop of water hit her face.

'Not again.' She thought.

"Why must everything go wrong on this trip?" She asked as she and Sherlock ran through the torrential downpour.

"Murphy's Law. Everything that can go wrong will go wrong." The rain pelted through her thin sweater, leaving her chilled to the bone. Suddenly Sherlock grabbed her arm.

"Thank you Molly. Thank you for telling me about your family."  
He pressed a brief, chaste kiss to her lips. The rain washed over her skin, and for the smallest of moments the taste of Sherlock and the rain were commingled. Maybe not everything had gone wrong.


	5. Chapter 5

One more after this one guys!

Prothoe- Thanks! Your reviews are absolutly lovely. Glad to know that you have been enjoying it.

musicchica10-Glad you liked it! You're right, Sherlock doesn't know what he has gotten himself into!

MorbidbyDefault- Glad you liked it!

Rocking the Readhead- Glad to know that you are enjoying it. I loved writing it!

whytejigsaw-Thank you!

Molly and Sherlock made the long trek back to town. She had been tired before they had arrived at Molly's home, but it couldn't compare to the mind-numbing weariness that accompanied the walk back in the pouring rain. The rain had sunk through Molly's thin sweater immediately, leaving her shivering and wet. Sherlock's heavy coat had managed to keep the majority of the rain off him, but his little moment of affection hadn't led to enough gallantry to offer it to Molly. When they arrived at the B&B they were both ready to return to London. They were greeted in the hall by Miss Lynn.

"I wondered where you two got off to. I knew you were wanting to head off tonight, but it just isn't going to happen. I had my neighbor Jim go to fetch your car, but he said that something is wrong with the engine and it has to be fixed. He towed it into town, but it is going to cost you extra. He should be done with the repair by the morning." She said

Sherlock grimaced.  
"Is there any way we could get a cab to take us to the train station?" He asked, the politeness in his voice forced. Miss Lynn shook her head.

"I tried to hire one about an hour ago, but they said the road into town is too flooded. They didn't want to risk it."

Sherlock sighed heavily.

"I guess we're staying here for another night darling." He said.

Molly smiled, a little pleased that the newlywed routine would be continuing another night.

That night Molly lay in bed next to her 'husband'. The little bed left them with two options. One, to sleep with limbs hanging out of the bed, or two, to sleep in VERY close proximity. Surprisingly, Sherlock had opted for the later. He lay (dare she say) snuggled into Molly's side, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. She felt like laughing giddily at the touch of his bare chest and torso against her body. He was sleeping deeply, his breath coming in heavy gasps when he sat bolt upright.

"I've found it Molly!" He exclaimed, pulling her to his chest in a spur of the moment embrace.

"Found what?" She asked groggily.

"The answer to Maggie's death!" With that, he promptly fell back asleep. Molly smiled as he snaked his arm back around her waist.

That morning the storm had cleared enough to make the roads passable and their car was once again in working order. Miss Lynn had convinced them to stay for breakfast, which left just one more time to continue their little ruse. Sherlock stood behind Molly's chair, fingers fiddling with her hair. It was a habit he had developed in the time they had been in Tring, it had been show until he had learned just how much he enjoyed the feeling of her smooth hair running through his fingers.

"How did you solve the mystery Sherlock?" She asked.

He shook his head.

"Not now. I'll tell you when we leave."

At that moment Miss Lynn entered the room with an ample breakfast that she was pushing on a cart. Sherlock stooped to kiss Molly's forehead before he sat next to her.

"Molly and I were just discussing how sad we are to leave. Someday we might bring children of our own here." Sherlock said.

Molly had been completely comfortable bringing Sherlock to Tring. She didn't have a dirty or embarrassing past that she wanted to hide. But she had overlooked one thing.

"That reminds me dear!" Miss Lynn exclaimed. "Theo Cooley was here last week. He and his wife Leah came with their new baby Margaret."

Molly could feel her face go red. Theo Cooley was something she hadn't been counting on. He had been her sweetheart in school, from the time she was seven until she was 19. But when she entered university things had changed between them. He had proposed to her, tried to convince her to return to their little town, but she turned him down. She saw Sherlock's head whip around.

"Who?" He asked.

"Theo and I dated in school." Molly said, hoping that it would be enough to show Miss Lynn that she didn't want the subject broached. The woman didn't take the hint though.

"He and Molly were sweethearts. We were all certain that they were going to get married."

Sherlock tensed, a vein in his jaw twitching. Molly felt twirling happy circles on the center of the table. Once again, the jealousy in his demeanor was unmistakable.

"What is it to Molly if he was here?" He demanded, before remembering that he was Archer Bailey, calm and gentle husband. "Excuse me." He muttered as the old lady continued chattering about the beautiful new baby, paying no attention to his outburst. Molly shook her head in disbelief.


	6. Chapter 6

Here it is guys! The last chapter. Hope the end is satisfactory!

James Birdsong- Thank you!

Prothoe- So glad that my story has helped!

MorbidbyDefault- I hope this chapter lives up to what you are hoping for!

musicchica10- Hope you like it!

SammyKatz- Yes, he really is!

They were now thirty minutes outside of Tring, their progress a little hampered by the mud.

"Now tell me, how did you solve it?" Molly asked.

For the first twenty minutes of the drive Sherlock had been curled into the passenger seat like a cat, lost in his mind palace. For the next ten he had refused to answer any questions Molly had put to him, but she could tell by the change in his expression that he was ready to show off.

"It was simple really. I had to enter the psyche of the killer. Did he want us to think that it was a suicide, or did he want us to think that it was a murder that was meant to look like a suicide? I toyed with the second option for a while, but it didn't fit the facts. Now on to the first. He wanted it to seem like a suicide. That leaves us with the problem of the smashed skull. As the injuries were post mortem, I had two options. Either the accidents were unintentionally inflicted, or they were inflicted by a different assailant. From here the reasoning was easy. We heard very soon after we arrived that Maggie was recently married, though I already knew this. This left 3 ideas in my head, but one proved to be the most promising. Maggie Wilson was cheating on her husband but had a change of heart and wanted to end things with her lover, who was a violently possessive person. She must have ended things with him rather suddenly. Now, if you are well versed in the crimes of India you will know that a gang of thieves lulled their victims to sleep with gas in their air conditioning units before robbing them. Apparently, Miss Wilson's lover was well versed in Indian crime, because when I investigated the flat traces of the gas were still relatively detectable. This led to one answer. The lover had used the gas to lull Miss Wilson to sleep, making it easy to inject the drug in her system. She never woke up. The post mortem injuries were caused by the murderer dragging her off the bed where she had conveniently been resting. Her head collided with the floor, which he hadn't expected or planned for. He left her there, probably hearing the husband enter. My hypothesis about his quick escape was confirmed by the jimmied window leading to the fire escape which the police had failed to notice. It is all very fantastic, the lover must have had a flair for the dramatic. The rest was easy. I just had to find an acquaintance of Maggie's who would have knowledge of Indian crime and heroin use. This led me to Bartholomew Jones, who is a professor of criminology. I called Lestrade and he has the man in custody. I believe the confession will be forthcoming." Sherlock leaned back, an obviously self-satisfied expression on his face.  
"Amazing!"

"To a well versed mind, nothing is amazing. It was elementary really."

Molly lay in her bed that night, slightly missing the warmth of Sherlock's body next to her. The man was like sleeping with a radiator. She kept running her finger over the spot on her forehead where he had kissed her. What exactly had Sherlock gained from the trip? Why had he gone at all? He had gathered the majority of the information he needed at Maggie's flat. Why hadn't he just called it off? All of the sudden, it struck her. Sherlock hadn't really needed to take the trip to Tring. He had WANTED to take that trip. She would have to ask him about it in the morning at the morgue.


End file.
